


Something in Between

by PlanetClare



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Anxiety, Assassins & Hitmen, Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America: Man Out of Time, Confusion, Courage, Cybernetics, Drama, Emotions, Estrangement, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Horror, Hydra (Marvel), Loneliness, Loyalty, Man Out of Time, Night Terrors, PoW, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner of War, Protective Steve Rogers, Redemption, Revenge, SHIELD, Separation Anxiety, Steve Rogers Feels, Strength, Supportive Steve Rogers, Survivor Guilt, Trust Issues, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlanetClare/pseuds/PlanetClare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes explains to his best friend Steve Rogers what transpired between the time he started to regain his memories and when they reunited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something in Between

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress that I began writing back in February. It’s my first piece of Bucky fanfic that’s based on events in the Marvel movieverse. Since the film “Captain America: Civil War” is a departure from the comics which inspired its storyline, I had to do some filling in. In the comics, the Winter Soldier did go missing once. Hydra found him living in a homeless shelter and took him back.
> 
> I’m not sure where this story is going, but I hope to finish it before I see “Captain America: Civil War.”

It was late afternoon as the two men sat facing each other at the kitchen table of Steve Rogers’ secret, new apartment. Their blue eyes examined each other’s face for signs of aging that were not there.

“What happened to you, Buck – after the Insight helicarrier went down and you fished me out of the water? Where did you go and what did you do?” Steve asked leaning forward in a blue t-shirt and beige pants.

Staring down into the cup of black coffee in front of him, Bucky drew a deep breath and exhaled as he was unsure of where to begin.

“At first, I tried to deny it, but I was certain that I knew you. There was something so familiar about you. Deep down, it kept nagging at me – giving me doubts about what I was doing. Then, you said those words to me: ‘I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.’ That sent a jolt through me stronger than any mind wipe. As I watched you fall into the Potomac River, I acted on instinct. Something told me to pull you out. Something told me to save you before you drowned.

“On the shore, I didn’t know what to do next. I wasn’t sure who I was but at that moment, I felt that everything I’d been doing was wrong.

“The first thing I did was shove my right shoulder back into place. Then, I started walking. Eventually, I came upon a utility shed behind some trees. Inside was workman’s clothing – a cap, shirt and pants hanging on a hook. I quickly changed into them and walked away taking my togs with me.”

Pausing for a moment, the assassin took a sip of his coffee and swallowed slowly.

Looking down at his red Henley and blue jeans, he gathered his thoughts and continued.

“As I walked, I kept my head down while people ran past me to get a better view of the wreckage of the helicarriers. Eventually, I found myself on the shadier side of town. I saw a homeless shelter there, so I stood in line and got in.

“My first night at the shelter was confusing and sleepless. I still wasn’t entirely sure who I was or who I could trust.

“I had this metal arm that at first horrified me. I couldn’t remember where I got it, but as memories gradually started coming back, I realized that I had it for some time and did very bad things with it. Alone in the bathroom that first night, I decided that I needed to remove it. I wanted it gone, but somehow couldn’t bring myself to remove it and frankly didn’t know how.

“I went back to my cot and as everyone else slept, I lay awake trying to piece things together in my mind. Memories started coming back to me in flashes – just bits and pieces of events. I remembered the war, but couldn’t understand why it seemed like it only happened a few days ago.  I remembered doing terrible things and all the while, part of me knew they were wrong – as if I were trapped in the body of someone else just watching but unable to stop what was happening.

“I decided that I needed to start writing things down in case I forgot them. So, I took a notebook from the backpack of a kid whose cot was near mine and in the dim light, I jotted down some of the scattered memories that came to me.

“The next morning, when I was in line for breakfast, one of the volunteers at the shelter said, ‘You’re new here. What’s your name?’ I didn’t know, so without looking at him, I pulled my cap lower over my eyes and told him it was ‘Mike.’ After that, I figured he might remember my face, so I ate and left. I never went back.

“That night and many others, I slept on a park bench. When I awoke the next morning, I ate food from a garbage can behind a restaurant and then walked around town trying to clear my head of the fog that seemed to grip me.

“That evening, I went to another homeless shelter across town, and that’s when I saw them,” he said as he stopped to take another sip of coffee.

“Who? Who did you see, Buck?” asked Steve with anticipation.

“Hydra. I saw some of the men from my memories – men that assisted me when I did horrible things. I also remembered them holding guns on me while another man slapped me across the face. They were at the front desk of the shelter talking to the staff as I sat in the dining room. One man held up a picture, and one of the volunteers looked around the room. I knew he was looking for me, so I quickly went to the sleeping area, slid under a cot and waited until they left. When they were gone, I knew I had to get out of there.

“Down the street, I watched a bus drive by, and the ad on the side of it had a word that was familiar to me. ‘Brooklyn,’ it read. When I saw it, more images and memories started coming back.

“On the flying ship –”

“The helicarrier,” Steve interrupted.

“Yeah, on that thing, you told me my name is James Buchanan Barnes. So, one day I went to a cyber café and searched that name for news articles. I read that there was an exhibit at the Smithsonian that featured a section on someone with that name, so I went there to look for answers. I slipped in with a large group of people as they entered, and I found myself surrounded by images of the man from the bridge – the one I pulled out of the Potomac. They were images of you.

“I was surprised enough at that but when I reached the section with the memorial to Barnes, I was in utter shock. I stood there looking at my own face. I can’t describe what I felt as I read the words. It said that I died during World War II while on a mission with my best friend, Steve Rogers. ‘How could that be? That was seventy years ago,’ I thought as I stared at the picture of the man who looked just like me.

“The pictures and movie reels made even more memories start flooding back, but they didn’t jibe with other memories – the shootings and killing not just in some country overseas but right here in this country. I felt like a silent witness in both bodies – in the good man and the bad.

“When I left the museum, I was even more confused than before. As I walked down a street, I saw a newspaper in a trashcan. The date on it was 2014. If that was me who died during the war, how is it that I’m still alive? Why do I look the same? These were a few of the dozens of questions I couldn’t answer.

“I continued to jot down memories – scattered, random images and sometimes just single words like ‘Hydra,’ ‘mission,’ ‘Brooklyn,’ ‘SSR,’ ‘causeway,’ or ‘Triskelion.’ I wrote until my notebook started filling up, but still most of it didn’t connect or make sense.

“I went back to the homeless shelter later that day and as I was finishing my meal, one of the volunteers came and sat across from me. For a minute, he stared at the glove on my left hand before speaking.”

“Were you in Afghanistan?” he asked.

“I didn’t know if I had or hadn’t, so when I didn’t answer, the guy continued.

“‘I lost my brother in Afghanistan.’

“He pulled $20 from his pocket and put in on the table in front of me.

“‘It’s a little ‘walking around money.’ It won’t buy you much, but if my brother were alive today, I’d appreciate it if someone did it for him.’

“I was hesitant to take it because considering some of my memories, I wasn’t sure that I’d been the type of person that deserved that sort of kindness.

“As the volunteer rose from the table and walked away, I took the money and slipped it into my pants pocket. When I finished my meal, I picked up my food tray and put it on the stack at the end of the serving counter. Before leaving the dining hall, I stopped for a moment and smiled at the volunteer worker. He nodded, and I left the shelter.

“Walking down a nearby street, I came upon a thrift store. Through the window, I saw something that caught my eye, and I went in. By the near wall, there was a table and on it, I saw an old backpack. The tag showed that it was $2, so I took it to the register and used the $20 to pay for it. I then went to a discount store and bought two cheap ink pens and a few more notebooks.

“I went to a park and wrote for a while. As the hours passed, I started to get cold so I got up and walked for a while. I still had $16 left, so I when I came upon a ‘mom and pop’ diner, I went in.

“Sitting at a booth, I was approached by a young waitress who asked what she could get me. I ordered a cup of coffee and as she left, I pulled out a notebook and started writing again.

“I didn’t realize how long I had been sitting there until she came over and poured my fifth refill of coffee.

“‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.

“I frowned, pulled the crumpled $5 from my pocket, and placed it on the table.

“She stared at it for a few moments and just walked away. About five minutes later, she returned and placed a chicken deli sandwich in front of me.

“When I looked up at her, she said, ‘You look like you’re having a rough time of it. It’s on the house.’

“‘Thank you,’ I mumbled. She gave me a crooked grin and walked away. The sandwich was good – better than the food at the shelters,” Bucky said with a wistful smile.

Steve smiled, too. He was glad that something as simple as a sandwich had brought a small amount of happiness to his best friend during a time of such misery.

“About ten minutes later when the waitress returned, my plate was completely empty.

“‘Liked the sandwich, did you?’ she asked.

“I just smiled.

“‘More coffee?’

“‘No, thanks,’ I said.

“‘You writing a book?’ she asked.

“When I tucked the notebook into my backpack, she felt that she had intruded.

“‘I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be nosy,’ she said.

“‘I was just scribbling. It’s mostly just nonsense, really. Thanks again for everything.’

“As I started to walk away, she called to me.

“‘Hey! You forgot this.’

“When I stopped, she approached me and handed me a dollar bill that I left on the table. I meant it as a tip, but she wouldn’t take it.

“‘You might need this,’ she said. ‘Every one of ‘em counts these days.’

Steve smiled again and poured Bucky more coffee from his Krups carafe.

“‘Janie’ is her name. Janie at Brubaker’s Diner,” Bucky said absentmindedly at he stared off into space.

“When I left Brubaker’s, I went to find a place to sleep for the night. I knew I couldn’t get into any shelters because I hadn’t gotten to one early enough to stand in line.

**Author's Note:**

> © 2016 Planet Press
> 
> The characters herein are the property of Marvel Comics which retains the rights.


End file.
